


Tall Tales

by chiliscale



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not Related, Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Consensual Underage Sex, Dean taking care of Sam, Gen, Hunter bar, M/M, Mer!Sam, POV Outsider, Pining Dean Winchester, Prank Wars, Priest Dean Winchester, Stanford Era (Supernatural), Stripper Jensen Ackles, sam taking care of dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:55:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29216802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiliscale/pseuds/chiliscale
Summary: A collection of short little stories I´ve written for one challenge or the other:Chapter 01 –- Some hunters catch sight of Sam & Dean at a bar. Gossip ensues.Chapter 02 –- Sam´s hair is a mess. Dean helps.Chapter 03 –- After decades of fruitless searching, Dean's order has finally managed to catch the infamous boyking.Chapter 04 –- Sam can't stand his father´s abuse any longer. He meets Dean in the aftermath.Chapter 05 –- Merkid!Sam gets a little too curious.Chapter 06 –- Dean visits Sam at Standord for New Years Eve.Chapter 07 –- Dean is hungover, Sam takes care of him.Chapter 08 –- Sam and Dean's latest prank war escalates.Chapter 09 –- Jensen is a Stripper, Colin likes to watch.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 11
Kudos: 60





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I might continue some of them at some point, but until then, this is my little archive :)  
> Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wincest, Outside POV

“Do you think it´s true?” Caleb whispered, careful to keep his voice low enough that it wouldn´t carry over to the surrounding tables.

“That _what_ is true?” Rick accepted his new beer with a nod of thanks to Trish, their waitress, and raised a quizzical eyebrow at his hunting partner.

“The rumors, of course, you idiot. And keep your fucking voice down. If they hear you...” Caleb trailed off and took a wary look around. Thankfully, no one seemed to pay their whispering any mind, but in a bar full of hunters, one could never be too careful.

“I still don´t know what the fuck you´re talking about.” Rick grumbled, clearly not in the mood for games.

Caleb sighed. “Those guys over there. You know who they are?” He asked, nodding in the direction of the pool tables, where two men were preparing their next match. Meanwhile, the other patrons were giving them a wide berth, whispers and distrustful eyes following their every move.

Neither of the men seemed bothered by it. They continued playing as if they were alone, too focused on each other to pay any attention to the people around them.

“No idea,” Rick shrugged after having observed them carefully, “But I guess you´re gonna tell me in a second or two.”

Fucking smart ass.

“You ever heard of Sam and Dean Winchester?” Caleb asked and watched with satisfaction as Rick choked on his beer.

“No fucking way,” he coughed, after he´d caught his breath again, a little wide-eyed and a lot disbelieving. “The apocalypse guys? The closed-the-gates-to-hell Winchesters? Shit, I thought they finally kicked the bucket years ago. Are you sure it´s them?”

“Pretty fucking sure,” Caleb answered, watching as Dean lined up his first shot, each movement slow and deliberate, fully aware of his audience. Sam was standing right next to him, hip to hip, not a hair´s breadth between them.

“They like to drop by, whenever they´re in the area. Last time, Jimmy ran into them on a hunt. Said he´d never seen anything quite like it.”

“I bet,” Rick murmured, an ounce of hero-worship in his voice. “If even half of the stories are true...Shit, do you think we´ll run into them, too?”

“You better hope not,” a new voice chimed in, scaring both of them half to death before they noticed that it was only Trish. She squeezed herself into the booth right next to Caleb and stole a few fries off his plate.

“Those Winchester don´t go for ordinary shit. If you ever meet them on a hunt, you better turn tails and run into the opposite direction as fast as you can. The things these boys are dealing with...” She shuddered. “ _Run_ , is all I´m sayin’.

Rick hesitated. Swallowed. Asked the question anyway. “People say they´ve been to hell. That they´re part demon now, and that´s why no one´s ever been able to kill them. Do you think that´s true?”

Trish shrugged. “Who knows,” she said and motioned for them to lean closer. “I heard, that Dean killed Death himself. And Old Jeff over there swears up and down that Sam shot God. Scattered his brain all over that freaking car of theirs.”

“Bullshit.” Rick shook his head, “You cannot kill God. Or Death, for that matter. How would you even do that?”

“The only people who can answer that question are right over there.” Caleb said darkly before Trish could answer, gesturing with his beer. “Everyone else is long dead and buried.”

They sat in silence for a while, each of them following their own thoughts as they watched the Winchesters finish their game. They were _good_ , better than anyone else Caleb had ever seen play, and that was saying something. The Winchester seemed to flow around each other, seamlessly taking aim and sinking balls, even the most difficult moves looking like child´s play in their hands.

Out of nowhere, Trish began to chuckle.

“You wanna hear the most ridiculous rumor of them all?” She asked, eyes sparkling with mirth. She leaned in again, close enough, that Caleb could smell the alcohol on her breath.

“Remember Ruth McGregor? Old lady with a fox for a pet?” Both men nodded. “Well, she said, she once met them years ago, when they were still traveling with their father. According to her, they´re _brothers_.”

At the back of the bar, Dean leaned against the pool table, spread his legs wide to accommodate Sam´s hips, and tangled one hand in his “brother´s” hair to drag him down into a kiss that was all teeth and tongue, decidedly too dirty for this kind of bar. Personally, Caleb didn't mind. Damn, these two looked hot together.

Beside him, Rick scoffed and rolled his eyes, voicing, what they all were thinking in that moment. “Yeah, right. Fucking brothers.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wincest, Dean taking care of Sam, Fluff

“Sam!” Dean growls at the bathroom door and tries the handle for the millionth time. “You´ve been in there for thirty-fucking-five minutes, dude. Stop primpin’ and get your ass outta here!”

No answer, only a distant thump, and so Dean takes a few steps back, rolls his shoulders, gets into position.

“Don´t make me come in there and get you,” he calls, his last warning. This is not the first door he´s kicked in to get to Sam, and it will most certainly not be the last.

This time, Sam doesn´t let him get that far.

“What _the hell_ do you think your doing, Dean?” The gap in the door is just wide enough for Sam to glare at Dean, and it´s clear from the way Sam´s holding himself that he has no intention of letting Dean enter. “Five more minutes, okay? Go order some food, or something.”

“Already did that,” Dean looks him up and down critically, takes in Sam´s naked torso, the slight flush on his cheeks. He frowns, asks “You´re not injured, are you?”.

“Not even a scratch,” Sam says with an eye roll, and then his head disappears behind the door again.

Unfortunately for him, Dean is fucking fast when he needs to be.

“Tell me what´s wrong,” Dean demands through pain- gritted teeth, fighting the impulse to draw his foot back. Shit. He´d totally forgotten that he´d already taken his boots off.

“I´m _fine_ , Dean,” Sam insists, like that sentence alone is not enough to make every hair on Dean´s body stand on end. Sam must’ve come to the same conclusion, because he sighs and takes a step back, allows Dean to open the door and inspect him from head to toe.

Sam certainly _looks_ fine, Dean thinks, barley biting back the leer that´s pulling at the corners of his lips. He looks healthy, has even gained a few pounds during the last two months, and what bruises he has are either already fainting, or have very deliberately been put there by Dean´s mouth. Sam´s wearing boxers, no shirt, but he´s clean and still a bit damp from the shower.

And yet… Dean´s instincts are on red alert, and he´ll be damned if doesn´t find out what the hell is wrong with his brother.

“You done?” Sam asks, eyebrows raised, nervously fidgeting with a strand of his hair, and it´s only then that Dean takes a closer look at the mess on top of Sam´s head.

“Shit, Sammy. What the hell happened to your hair?”

*

“Werewolf guts,” Dean declares five minutes later as he carefully picks another bloody piece out of Sam´s hopelessly knotted hair. “Damn, Sam, you´re all messed up. Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

“Was gonna fix it myself,” Sam grumbles, but Dean doesn´t miss the way he leans into each touch like a goddamn kitten. “And stop eyeing the scissors. No cutting unless it´s absolutely unavoidable.”

“I´d never even dream of it.” It´s the truth, God help him. No matter how much Dean loves to tease Sam about his hair, he´d rather pull out his own fingernails one by one than make Sam cut it.

Dean gently disentangles knot after knot. Frowns, when his comb hits something a little more solid, his expression quickly turning into a disgusted grimace when it turns out that _something_ looks suspiciously like a human tooth. Ugh.

It takes a lot of patience and even more cursing, but fifteen minutes later, Dean is done and Sam´s hair is as smooth and free of monster guts as it´s ever going to get.

"All done,” Dean says and presses a kiss to Sam´s naked shoulder. “And I don´t know about you, but I think I´ll need another shower. Wanna share?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wincest, Raised apart, Priest!Dean and Boyking!Sam

Their footsteps echo through the dark hallway, shadows dancing across the rough stone walls as they pass, candles flickering in their wake.

From somewhere deep down in the dungeon, a faint echo of prayer reaches their ears and though it´s not enough to ease their anxious hearts, it does remind all of them that they´re not alone in this. Their brothers are with them.

They walk for what feels like hours, deeper and deeper into the earth, passing cell door after cell door, the cries of the imprisoned following them.

Finally, they stop in front of a massive oaken door. It´s covered in sigils and potent incantations. Arcane symbols that stretch from the thick metal bars holding the door in place all the way into the strong stone surrounding it.

In a building filled with the most dangerous creatures roaming God´s earth, this door is their ultimate stronghold. Whatever creature is waiting in the room behind it, it´s more powerful than any other being either of them has ever encountered before.

At the very front of their group, Father Jim pauses. He hesitates for a heartbeat, before he turns around, a question in his eyes he doesn´t dare speak out loud.

This is it. His one and only out.

Dean swallows.

He can blow it all off, now. Back out with his dignity still intact, no questions asked. They all know that he is more invested in this than any other man of their order. That Dean has more to lose than just his life, should he ever set foot through that door.

Dean recognizes the fear in Father Jim´s eyes, feels it mirrored in his own heart, in the leaden weight that has settled in his stomach and barley allows him to eat these days. He hasn´t slept in what feels like weeks, can´t remember, doesn´t care. Knows that it is only adrenaline and sheer determination keeping him upright at this point. And yet, his most important battle still lies ahead of him.

To Dean, there is only one possible choice.

“Take me to him,” he orders, no sign of weakness in his voice.

Control is the one thing Dean still has left, and he is determined to keep it until the very end.

There´s barley a sound when the door opens, its heavy hinges well kept and oiled to perfection.

Dean´s skin prickles when he passes through the door, the energy inside the room flaring like electricity, powerful enough to set them all aflame if they were ordinary people.

Breathing is a battle all of its own, the air so thick that Dean feels like they´re underwater, barley any oxygen left to feed his burning lungs.

Tricks and illusions, Dean knows. The creature is bound and all but powerless, but the fact that it can still fight them like this, tells him more than he ever wanted to know about the level of power he´ll be dealing with later.

He follows Father Jim, who is silently waiting in front of a second door, and with one last nod to his old teacher, Dean takes another step and, for the first time in decades, comes face to face with the creature he has once called brother.

The creature is bound and immobilized, thick chains holding it in place, a pentagram and powerful runes keeping its powers in check.

“ _Sammy,_ ” is all Dean can think of, the only thought in his head, and he hadn´t been aware that he´d spoken out loud until the creature´s head snaps around and Dean locks eyes with the deeply black one´s of the thing inhabiting his little brother´s body.

Unlike Dean, it clearly takes Sam a moment to recognize him. Not that Dean can blame him. It´s been years, decades, maybe even centuries. Time flows different in hell.

The energy around them shifts, every hair on Dean´s body standing on end as the creature concentrates all of his efforts solely on him.

It´s not an attack, though, but a caress. A greeting. A lover´s embrace.

Dean wants to tremble. To break. To run to his brother´s side, free him from his chains. Knows that he _can´t_. He´d be dead long before the metal hit the ground.

So he watches, instead. Drinks Sam in with every sense that is still left to him.

This creature, this _thing_ , is so unlike the brother Dean once knew.

This Sam is ageless, both ancient evil and young innocence. His eyes have seen all the terrors of hell, but his body is young and slender, long limbs and broadening shoulders that hold the promise of strength to come. Sam´s beautiful and he knows it. The wicked glint in his eyes says he knows that Dean has seen it, too.

Sam´s temptation incarnate, and for the first time in his life, Dean doesn´t know if he´ll be strong enough to overcome his own weaknesses.

“Leave us,” Dean demands, voice like thunder. He cannot afford to show any doubt, not to himself and most certainly not to Sam. “We share the same blood, he´s _mine_. I hereby stake my claim on him, both in this life, and in the next.”

It´s the least he can do. Dean cannot bear the thought of another man laying his hands on his little brother. Sam is his duty and his trial. His to love and his to kill, if it should come to that.

Without waiting for a reply from the men behind him, Dean takes another step forward and grabs Sam´s jaw, unrelenting fingers forcing his brother´s head up until they are staring into each other´s eyes.

“I failed you,” Dean murmurs, regret darkening his heart. “Your sins are mine, too. It is only right that I should be to one to cleanse you, to bring you to salvation.”

Amidst the deafening silence that follows Dean´s statement, Father Jim clears his throat. “This is your decision to make, my son, and I won´t stand against you. But he´s too strong for you to face him alone. Allow me at least to -”

“No,” Dean interrupts sharply, his determination unwavering.

Down on the chair, Sam is smirking up at Dean, the defiant tilt of his lips clearly visible even around the thick ball-gag forcing his pink mouth wide open.

He looks so tantalizing, that Dean feels his stomach tighten with sudden want, the heat of it so scalding that he nearly groans out loud. By the heavens, it´s already starting.

Dean drops the creature´s head as if he´s been burned and wipes his hand on his robe, finally turning around to face his brothers for one last time.

“My life is in our Father´s hands now,” he tells them calmly. “If my sins are too terrible to earn His forgiveness, then I will gladly accept my punishment and surrender my soul to the deepest pits of hell.

Dean lets the words sink in, holds each one of his brother´s gazes until they drop their heads in deference.

“Leave us,” Dean orders again, impatient now, the room vibrating as he unleashes a fraction of his own powers. This time, he won´t be disobeyed.

With one last bow to Dean, his brothers turn to leave. One by one by one.

“Be careful, my son,” Father Jim says as he takes his place at the back of the group, closing and locking the door behind them without any further sound.

Dean doesn´t even hear the goodbye, his unwavering attention already firmly fixed on the wicked creature in front of him.

“We got work to do, Sammy,” Dean murmurs, before he grabs the first one in a long line of knives, and cuts his brother´s throat.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wincest, hints of child abuse, murder

Sam is fifteen when he meets Dean for the very first time.

It´s a cold night in the middle of November, the kind of weather where most people stay indoors and bury themselves under two dozen blankets, only leaving the house when there´s absolutely no other choice.

Sam doesn´t have any blankets and his breath forms tiny clouds in front of his face every time he breathes out.

Their heating system had gotten turned off weeks ago when his Dad hadn’t been able to bring up enough cash to pay the electricity bill, and Sam has been cold ever since. Tonight is the first time that the cold doesn´t touch him at all.

He watches silently as the drop slowly makes its way down the blade, the deep red color nearly black in the dimly-lit room.

The blood on his hands is sticky and only just beginning to dry. Sam knows that it will be a bitch to clean off if he waits any longer, but he can´t seem to get himself to move.

It´s like he´s frozen in time – only him and the quickly cooling body at his feet, the steady _drop drop drop_ the blood makes when it falls from the corpse´s finger down into the ever-growing pool of red on the floor.

Sam has always thought that death was scary, frightening, but all he can feel now is numbness and bone-deep relief.

It´s over.

It´s _done_.

“I´m sorry,” he whispers, out of obligation more than out of any actual regret.

“You shouldn't´t be. He deserved it,” a low voice comments from the shadows, and Sam nearly slips in his haste to turn around, knife already raised against the unknown threat.

The attack doesn´t come.

Instead, there´s movement in the darkness and he can vaguely make out the tall silhouette of a man, barley visible in the low candle light.

“Who the fuck are you!” Sam snarls, trying in vain the keep his voice from trembling. “What do you want?”

The only answer he gets is a chuckle.

“C-come out where I can see you, asshole!”

Sam screams when he´s suddenly face to face with another person, his knife slipping through his fingers and clattering to the floor.

“Easy,” the stranger says and puts a gentle hand on Sam´s hip to steady him. “I´m not going to harm you, Sammy.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, only parting when Sam comes to his senses and hastily takes a few steps back.

“Who are you?” he asks again, more impatient this time.

“My name´s Dean,” Dean says and stares unblinkingly at Sam. “I came back to check on you.”

“What do you mean, _back_?” Sam narrows his eyes suspiciously, but Dean ignores him.

He´s examining the corpse instead, apparently not at all bothered about the blood soaking through his sneakers.

“Nice job for your first time,” Dean whistles appreciatively. “You need to work on your precision, though, or you´ll stab yourself one of these days.”

Sam stares at him incredulously. “I _murdered_ someone."

"Obviously."

"And you´re okay with that?”

“It was the right thing to do,” Dean insists.

“I fucking _killed_ him!”

“He deserved it.”

“But he was my Dad!” Sam yells, his voice breaking on the last words.

“He was _not_!” Dean growls and suddenly he is close enough that Sam can feel the coolness of his skin.

“Fathers don´t beat their children half to death. Fathers don´t touch their children like _that_. Fathers - ,“ he breaks off and his expression softens, compassion replacing the anger and smoothing out the sharp edges of his face.

“He was nothing like a father is supposed to be,” Dean lifts a hand and grabs Sam´s shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “You were right to kill him, Sam. It was time.”

“How would you know?” Sam asks, trying to fight the tears that suddenly burn in the corners of his eyes.

“Because that´s my job,” Dean answers, and then he slowly begins to draw Sam in, each movement gentle and careful, giving him enough time to pull back if he should wish to.

Dean´s shirt is soft against Sam´s cheek and he smells a bit weird – foreign and glorious, like the brightness of a star and the vastness of space.

“I took him with me, accompanied him to the deepest pit of hell,” Dean continues and buries the fingers of his right hand into Sam´s hair. “He´ll suffer for eternities for what he did to you, Sam, trust me. He will not get off lightly.”

It´s the righteous anger in Dean´s voice that shatters Sam´s composure, the knowledge that someone _cares_ more than he can take. It´s too much, _too much_ , but Dean doesn´t seem to mind, just holds Sam through it at as he sobs and cries, fingers rubbing soothing patterns into Sam´s back, Dean´s voice a warm hum in his ear.

They stay like this for a long moment, and for the first time in forever, Sam feels safe.

“I need to go,” Dean murmurs eventually and reluctantly disentangles them. “There´s other souls, I can´t make them wait forever.”

“Will I meet you again?” Sam asks, and he doesn´t quite manage to keep the pleading from his voice. It has been a long time since someone has last looked at him with kindness and the feeling is addicting already.

“That´s not my decision to make,” Dean answers, but his eyes are mischievous when he presses the knife back into Sam´s waiting palm.

“You know how to find me, Sammy,” he whispers, leaning in.

The kiss burns through Sam like freezing fire and for a moment he wonders if this is the day he´s going to die, too.

Then Dean draws back and smiles at him, warm and proud, like he actually believes that Sam is more than just a skinny, broken boy.

“Don´t take too long,” he orders, and the very next second, he´s gone, the weird tingling of Sam´s lips the only sign that Dean has been here at all.

Sam grips his knife tighter and smiles.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gen, Weechesters, Mer!Sam meeting Hunter!Dean

Quiet now.

Sam takes a deep breath and slowly inches closer, careful to stay hidden behind the cover of the boulders lying between him and the shore.

Another wave gently breaks against his shoulders, salt water spraying up around him, but he doesn´t mind the wetness, he´s too busy smiling at the fact that he has apparently made it back in time today.

By the moon, _finally_!

He´d been less lucky yesterday – his mother had kept him busy for hours upon hours, and by the time he had finally been able to sneak away, the sun had already started to set, darkness slowly creeping in and making the emptiness of the beach even more taunting to his disappointed eyes.

Which is why today, he´d gotten up even before the first ray of sunlight had hit the ocean floor and had quickly worked through all his chores and then some. His mother had been delighted and had allowed him to swim off to play in the riff without further ado, clearly delighted by his sudden eagerness to help.

Or well, at least that´s where she thinks he´s disappeared to. Sam´s pretty damn sure that she won´t be happy at all if she ever learns of his real whereabouts.

Sam´ll be in for the scolding of his lifetime, but for once he doesn´t mind. He´d happily suffer through a dozen scoldings if that means that he can spend a few more precious hours here.

At home, the adults always tell them that the outside world is dangerous. That there´s sharks and hurricanes, narrow gaps between boulder you can get stuck in, plastic waste that can suffocate you, ships and boats that might catch you with their nets.

And, of course, humans. Sam shudders.

There´s nothing more dangerous than humans, Sam _knows_ that. He´s heard the stories one too many times to ever doubt it, but he also can´t deny that he´s curious.

Humans look so similar to his own people (at least from the waist up), how different can they really be?

His curiosity has drawn him to the Upside countless times already, but he has always made sure to stay hidden, so very careful not to give himself away.

He has watched. He has observed. He has never felt the desire to actually swim over and introduce himself. At least until now, that is.

Maybe its because this human seems special.

He (and Sam´s pretty damn sure that it´s a he) is _beautiful_ , there´s no other word for it. All golden skin and sun-bleached hair, eyes that have the color of a kelp forest on a sunny day.

Sam´s human spends most of his afternoons at this tiny secluded section of the beach, his only companion a smallish, very hairy creature that seems to take great joy in fetching sticks and branches that the human throws into the water.

And if the sounds the human is making are anything to go by, then he´s enjoying the whole thing just as much.

His laughter is so loud and contagious that even Sam can´t hold back the grin that is spreading over his own face.

Which is exactly when he forgets everything about being sneaky and hidden, unconsciously leans a little closer, and then promptly loses his balance and crashes face first into the water on the other side of the boulder he has been hiding behind.

He doesn´t hurt himself, thankfully, but when he comes back up for air, his face burning with embarrassment, the laughter has ceased and both the human and his companion have frozen in the midst of their play.

Sam looks up just in time to meet the human´s eyes, and for a seconds it seems like the earth has stopped turning around them.

Then the human breaks into action, body moving faster than Sam has ever thought possible, and before Sam knows what is happening, the human has a gun trained right between his eyes.

“Fucking siren!” he hisses with an astonishing lack of fear.

Sam scowls.

“I´m not a siren,” he says a little indignantly, though he can´t help but feel flattered that the human thinks him pretty enough to mistake him for one. “I´m a merman. And you can put that gun away, I´m not going to harm you.”

“You´re a what now?” the human laughs, but it´s not the happy sound Sam has heard earlier. There´s bitterness in it now, a hint of sadness – like the human wants to believe Sam but doesn´t think that he should.

“A merman.” Sam repeats patiently. He has never met any humans, maybe they don´t even know that his people exist.

“A merman.” The humans snorts, “Alright, Ariel, why don´t you take your scale-covered ass out of here and leave me the fuck alone. I´m not in the mood for games.”

“My name´s not Ariel,” Sam sighs. “It´s _Sam_. And there´s plenty of room for both of us, why can´t I stay here with you? You don´t even have to talk to me if you don´t want to.”

Sam´s eyes flicker over to the fluffy, hairy thing that is still standing next to the human. It hasn´t made any sound since Sam has shown up, but it´s watching him with curious eyes, its weird, thin tail wagging from side to side in excitement.

“What kind of fish is that?” he asks, knowing full well that the human´s hairy friend is most certainly not a fish, but he has no idea what terms humans use to describe land creatures.

Unexpectedly, the questions earns him another laugh.

“Her name is Kirk,” the human explains, a little less suspicious now. “And she´s a dog. You never seen one before?”

Sam shakes his head and inches a little closer, pleased to find that the humans actually lets him.

The gun´s still there, though.

“Do you have a name, too?”

Sam waits with bated breath for the answer, feeling strangely triumphant when the human gives it after a few seconds of hesitation.

“Dean,” he says, sighs, and finally lowers the gun. There´s a low clicking sound and then Dean pushes the gun into the waistband of his pants – not out of reach yet, but a clear sign that he doesn´t consider Sam to be an imminent threat.

“Dean,” Sam smiles, testing the sound and finding that he likes it very much indeed. “Can I – can I join? Can I play with you and your dog?”

Dean looks at him for a few long moments but then he shrugs, turns towards Kirk and lifts an eyebrow at her.

“What do you say, girl? Wanna play fetch with Ariel over there?”

Sam guesses that the enthusiastic wagging of her tail is all the answer he needs.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stanford era, Pining!Dean

“Hey, that´s my fucking shirt!” is the first thing that comes to Dean´s mind, “Always knew Sammy had a thing for Sabbath,” is the second.

It´s fucking ridiculous. Here he is, in Palo frigging Alto, literally 500 feet away from his baby brother whom he hasn´t seen in  _ months _ , and the only thing Dean can think of is how damn gorgeous Sammy looks when he´s wearing Dean´s clothes.

It´s not exactly a new thing. Sam has been wearing Dean´s hand-me-downs for as long as either of them can remember, and for the longest time, it had only ever been just that: the natural progression of things.

Looking back, Dean cannot tell at what point things started to change. When he stopped teasing Sam for how tiny he looked wearing Dean´s too-big jackets and started admiring the sharp cut of his brother´s collarbone, clearly visible in the wide collar of Dean´s discarded shirts.

Little brother´s all grown up now, though.

Dean´s old shirt fits him perfectly, might even be a little tighter than Sam usually prefers, the worn fabric stretched thin over Sam´s broadening chest.

Sam looks beautiful. Happy. College life clearly has been treating him well.

He´s surrounded by what Dean assumes are his friends, all twelve of them squeezed together on the tiny balcony of their dorm building, champagne glasses in hand as they count down the last seconds of the old year.

Dean doesn´t know what he had expected. Sam deserves all the friends, all the happiness in the world. He´s glad that this part of his brother´s dream has come true, at least.

But a more selfish part of Dean, the one he´s tried and failed to bury time and time again, the one who had expected to swoop in there and gather Sam in his arms, be his knight in shining armor, save him from his self-inflicted loneliness, is howling in rage and misery.

Dean used to be the only person in the whole damn world who could make Sam laugh like that, and the fact that this is clearly no longer true hurts way more than Dean will ever admit, not even to himself.

“Four – three – two – ONE! Happy New Year!”

All around them people cheer and fireworks explode, turning the black night sky blue and green and red.

“Happy new year, Sammy,” Dean whispers a second too late, downs the rest of his too-warm beer and throws the empty bottle into a bush behind him. His left knee cracks ominously when he stands up and dusts himself off, his weeks-old injury still not completely healed.

Dean turns around just as Sammy pulls the pretty blonde girl next to him into a deep kiss, the keys to the Impala jangling quietly when he  fishes them from the pockets of Dad´s worn leather jacket.

Time to get out of here, Dean thinks. If he drives all night, he can still meet up with Dad in Oregon tomorrow.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wincest, Sam taking care of Dean, Fluff

“You gotta shoot me, Sammy. _Please_. Just get the damn gun and get it over with. It´ll be easier on both of us.”

“Don´t be melodramatic,” Sam huffed and pulled the dark green curtains in front of their only window. A thick cloud of dust drifted up and filled his nose and Sam sneezed. Damn, this place was worse than their usual motels.

“I´m not being dramatic,” came Dean´s muffled reply, and the way his voice sounded, Sam could just tell that he was pouting. “I'm _dying_ here, Sammy. The very least you could do is not be an ass about it.”

“I gave you painkillers, didn´t I?”

Sam moved over to the bed and eyed the human-shaped lump huddled beneath the blankets. The only visible parts of Dean were his left foot and a few strands of hair, everything else was safely buried in darkness. “ _And_ I bought you a fucking cheeseburger. How the hell was I supposed to know that -”

“ _Sam_ ,” Dean whined and one of his hands shot out from beneath the blankets to deliver a punch to Sam´s knee. It felt like being hit by a newborn kitten. “ _Food._ Don´t. Mention. Food!”

Sam had to bite his lip to keep his laughter at bay. “Jesus, you´re seriously fucked up, aren´t you? I´ve never heard you turn down food twice in a row.”

Extending a hand, he gingerly lifted one corner of the uppermost bed sheet and peeked underneath it.

“You look like shit,” Sam scrunched up his nose. “And you smell like a truck stop bathroom. Seriously, dude. How much did you have to drink?”

“Can´t remember,” Dean mumbled, his already ashen face turning a little greenish. “And can you please stop talking about bathrooms, too? I´m gonna throw up if you keep that up.”

“I told you it was a bad idea to try and out-drink those truckers.”

“I won the money, didn´t I?” Dean buried his face deeper into his pillow. “Now leave me alone, Sam. I can´t concentrate on not tossing my cookies if you keep on nagging me.”

Sam rolled his eyes, took a deep breath and then pulled the blankets off Dean´s body.

“Shower,” he ordered, ignoring his brother´s outraged protest. “You fucking stink, man. I´ll have to air the whole room to get that smell out.”

Getting Dean into the bathroom was easier said than done, though, and was only made worse by the fact that his asshole brother was not even trying to help. He leaned onto Sam as much as he could and just let himself be half-dragged, half-carried to the shower.

“Gonna join me, Sammy?” Dean asked with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows as Sam helped him undress, but the deepening greenness of his face wasn´t fooling anyone.

“You wish,” Sam retorted and pushed Dean under the spray. “Brush your teeth, Dean. I´m not kissing you while you smell like something died in there.”

He gathered Dean´s clothes and shoved them into the deepest corner of their laundry duffel before using their tiny kitchen to prepare some stomach soothing tea. Dean was not a tea person under the best of circumstances, but since he´d even refused food, Sam figured that he might stand a chance.

Sure enough, Dean didn´t complain when he shuffled out of the bathroom ten minutes later. He simply took the cup that Sam was holding out to him and carefully took a tiny sip, only grimacing slightly at the taste.

They somehow managed to fit the both of them onto their tiny motel couch, Dean half in Sam´s lap, Sam´s hand rubbing soothing circles into his brother´s scalp.

“We should do this more often,” Dean purred, his elbow digging painfully into Sam´s stomach as he tried to get more comfortable. “And we should definitely get a bigger sofa next time.”

Sam nodded and pulled a blanked over the both of them, settling in to watch the Star Trek marathon Dean had found on their crappy TV.

“Don´t you dare fall asleep on top of me,” he warned when Dean yawned a bit too enthusiastically. “Your fucking heavy, my leg´s still ruined from last time.”

“Shut up,” Dean mumbled against Sam´s chest. “You love it.”

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes. Tangled his hand deeper into Dean´s hair.

Yeah, maybe he really, really did.

Not that he´d ever admit that.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prank wars, Cursed!Sam, tiny bit of Wincest

“Come on, Sammy!” Dean coes and scoots a little closer, carefully trying to peek underneath the sofa. It´s fucking dark down there, but he swears that there´s movement in the far left corner – a small body slowly inching closer, the annoyed twitch of a tail.

He should probably go and get a flash light or something, but dammit, he´s spend the most part of the last two hours trying to back Sam into a corner, and he´s not about to lose him again just because his human night vision sucks.

“I already told you that I´m sorry, so could you please stop moping now? It´s hardly my fault that you – _son of a bitch_!”

Dean jerks back with a yelp and stares incredulously at the angry red claw marks now covering the back of his right hand.

“Seriously, man?”

It´s not a deep wound, just the barest hint of blood, but it still fucking hurts.

“I´m trying to help you, goddammit! Stop being a bitch and get your ass outta there, Sam!”

_Maybe in your dreams, jerk!_

Dean rolls his eyes.

“Sammy, come on – it can´t be that bad! The box said it´s only a temporary curse, a few more hours and you´ll be as good as new!”

 _How would you know?_ Sam grumbles, the tip of a fur-covered paw appearing from beneath the sofa. _It´s not you who looks like fucking Garfield._

Dean wisely doesn´t say anything as Sam slowly crawls out of his hiding place – one wrong word and he´ll probably get another taste of Sam´s newly acquired claws.

As it turns out, even as a cat Sam is frigging huge. He´s the biggest fucking house-cat Dean has ever seen - all long, glossy fur and huge, angry eyes that stare accusingly up at him.

Also, _teeth_.

Sam would probably be intimidating if he weren´t so damn cute.

“See?” Dean says placatingly, “What´s the big deal? You look adorable, dude!”

Sam opens his mouth as if to answer him, but then an uncomfortable look crosses his tiny little face and he plops down on his ass, lifts a paw and begins to scratch at his ear like crazy.

Dean frowns. “You alright?”

 _Yes._ Sam hisses, his paw moving fast enough that it looks a little blurry. He doesn´t stop scratching, just tilts his head a little and shoots Dean a dirty look. _Turns out that I´m fucking allergic to cat hair. My whole body is itching like crazy_.

This time, Dean can´t help himself. He doubles over with laughter.

 _It´s_ _NOT_ _funny._ Sam snaps but Dean can hear the reluctant amusement in his voice. _Do you have any idea how horrible this is? This is way worse than_ _the_ _itching powder you_ _poured all over my clothes the_ _last time._

“God, this is gold,” Dean grins and sidesteps the half-hearted attack Sam launches on his leg. “Two pranks in one, pretty sure that means I´ve won this round, Sammy.”

Not like Sam could top Dean´s cursed box, anyway.

 _You wish_. Sam scratches a little harder, fur flying everywhere.

Dean watches him for a bit, before finally deciding to take pity on his brother.

“Truce?” he asks, lifting his hands in surrender. “At least until you´re back to two feet again.”

Sam drops his paw and eyes Dean suspiciously. _No funny business?_

“No funny business.” Dean agrees. “Cross my heart.”

It takes a little more convincing, but Sam finally relents and they curl up on their sofa like they usually do, with Sam sprawled right on top of Dean and Dean´s fingers tangled in his brother´s hair - the only difference being that Sam actually _does_ fit on top of Dean this time.

 _You and your idiotic prank wars_. Sam sighs and plops on Dean´s chest, all forty fucking pounds of him at once. He wiggles around until he´s comfortable, nose buried in Dean´s neck, tail curling around his body.

“Don´t act like you didn´t have fun,” Dean scoffs and runs a hand through his own, short hair. It´s still a little greenish, but Sam has assured him that the color should come off in a day or two.

 _Mmh, yeah. I got you good, didn´t I?_ Sam´s purr turns triumphant. _Now stop complaining and start petting me, the itching is driving me crazy!_

Dean chuckles, buries his hand deeper into Sam´s fur, and then begins to scratch, fingers moving in tiny circles all over Sam´s back and tummy.

He never really understood why people would want to own a cat, fucking arrogant bastard that they are, but after a few minutes of listening to Sam purr, Dean has to admit that it´s sort of… nice. Part of him could actually get used to this.

 _I still hate you_. Sam mumbles sleepily, the effect slightly ruined by the way he curls deeper into Dean´s chest. _And if you make me pee into a litter box, I will fucking kill you, so don´t even think about it._

“I´d never.” Dean says, a little too innocently, and promptly gets a mouth full of cat tail for his troubles.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jensen/Colin, Stripper!Jensen, Underage
> 
> For emmatheslayer @springfling a few years back

Jensen leaned against the door frame and cleared his throat, watching with satisfaction as Colin twirled around in surprise, a blush rapidly blooming on his cheeks and turning them a lovely shade of pink.

“J-Jensen,” the kid stammered, uncharacteristically flustered, hands pulling at his shirt in a rather unsuccessful attempt at hiding the hard-on he was sporting. It was rather cute, really. “What are you doing here? I thought you were still with a client...”

“Just finished off my last one,” Jensen interrupted and carefully stepped closer, giving Colin plenty of time to withdraw in case he´d been reading this all wrong. It was unlikely, though. Jensen knew puppy love when he saw it, and Colin here had to worst case of heart-eyes he´d ever seen in his life. The kid was about as subtle as an elephant in a petting zoo.

“But you already knew that, didn´t you, Colin?” Jensen dropped his voice half an octave lower than usual and watched with satisfaction as Colin shivered involuntarily. God, the kid was ridiculously easy. He should have done this ages ago. “Did you enjoy the show, at least?”

Colin swallowed, eyes darting distractedly between Jensen´s eyes and his naked chest. “Jensen, I swear I didn´t know you´d be in there, I didn´t mean to -”

“Bull. Shit.”

Another step.

“You knew damn well that I had another private dance coming up. You spied on me on purpose.” Jensen licked his lips, watched as Colin´s eyes followed the movement. “And it wasn´t the first time, either.”

They were nearly touching now, only a scarce few inches between them.

Colin was staring up at Jensen with wide eyes, caught somewhere between fear and arousal, pupils blown so wide that they looked almost black in the dimmed light of the changing room.

“You knew?” he whispered, clearly horrified. “B-but you never said anything!”

“People watch me all the time. Colin. I´m used to it,” Jensen smirked and hooked his fingers into Colin´s belt loops, pleased to find that the kid leaned into his touch. “You made me curious. Wanted to see how far you´d go.”

Jensen leaned in, mouth ghosting over the soft skin of Colin´s jaw, the barley-there hint of stubble on his cheek. God, sometimes he forgot how young Colin still was. For all Jensen knew, the kid could still be a virgin, could still be unkissed, un _fucked_ , as unlikely as it was. Pretty little things like Collin never stayed innocent for long in Jensen´s line of business.

Swallowing a growl at the thought of someone else touching what was his, Jensen sucked a hickey into the sensitive skin behind Colin´s ear just to feel the kid tremble against him. Watched with fascination as Colin´s eyelids fluttered closed when Jensen kissed the corner of his mouth.

“Tell me, sweetheart. Did you get off on it?” Jensen asked and pressed his knee between Colin´s legs, spreading them wide to get better access. “Watching me with other people? Knowing they can get all of me up close while you can only watch from your dark little corner?”

Colin made a hurt little noise, somewhere between a whine and a moan, and curled a hand around Jensen´s biceps, sharp nails digging into his skin.

“I fucking hated it,” he gasped, hips jerking forward on their own accord, the bulge in his jeans rubbing against Jensen´s thigh. “Wanted it to be me, but I knew you didn´t – shit, Jensen, I was so fucking jealous.”

Jensen chuckled. “Possessive little shit, aren´t you.”

He pushed Colin further up against the wall, trapping him against it. The kid was so damn keyed up, he was going to cream his pants in no fucking time whatsoever.

“Got me so fucking hot,” Jensen whispered. His hands pushed their way beneath Colin´s shirt, fingers fitting perfectly in the groove of his hips.“Knowing that you were watching. Wanting. Jesus, Colin, you have no idea.”

Gently, he started coaxing Colin´s hips into a slow, lazy rhythm against his thigh. Watched as the kid grew more desperate, breath catching until he was panting with it, so close, Jensen could almost taste it.

“God, I want to fuck you,” Jensen growled and grabbed Colin´s hips even tighter. “Can´t wait to get my dick inside, fill you up nice and full. You´d like that, wouldn´t you?

He got a frantic nod in response and Colin whimpered, fucking whimpered, and then came all over himself, wetness spreading through the fabric of his jeans.

Jesus _Christ_.

Jensen grinned and held him through it, kissed his neck and murmured praise to calm the kid down.

That was all the answer he had needed.


End file.
